Holding Out for a -- Butler?
by Rosa Clearwater
Summary: "Mr. Carson," She had cryptically requested his presence with just six words: "There seems to be a problem." At the time, he should have been concerned. He had been concerned, actually. But, it was not quite the appropriate level of concern. [Second one-shot is unrelated to the first; the 3rd is absolutely a necessary/crack response to the movie.]
1. A Scandal That's Not

_**A/N:**_ This cracked me up and wouldn't leave me alone, so I simply had to write it.

_._

"Mr. Carson," She had cryptically requested his presence with just six words:

"There seems to be a problem."

At the time, he should have been concerned. He had been concerned, actually.

But, it was not quite the _appropriate_ level of concern.

It had been a brief, "Is something the matter, Mrs. Hughes?" and an inquisitive tilt of his head - but nothing more. Had he been truly concerned, he would have caught the fact that she had paused a moment, biting her lip whilst attempting to not wring her hands.

(Of course, he was always drawn to her lips, so he did catch that bit at the least. However, the not-so-subtle wringing and general aura of "For the love of God, we have a problem" was definitely missed)

And, unfortunately, the rest of her actions had to be swept under the rug - the bells were now ringing. The household, as always, was now requiring his undivided attention.

Which brought him to her sitting room several hours later, standing in the doorway and waiting hesitantly for an answer to whatever had been going on earlier. For it was now, in the stilted atmosphere of her domain, that he could begin to categorize this situation as one where he should probably have been more concerned from the start.

After all, it had been five minutes of standing in this spot and she still didn't dare to address the official problem.

Had he had been sitting, Carson would have been far past the edge of his seat.

As it was, he now only felt inclined to take another step further into her domain. He was not the fool who dared to leap audaciously over boundary lines, but she _had_ explicitly invited him on the grounds of acknowledging some sort of household problem. And that invitation meant that the subject would have to be addressed relatively soon, if not within the next few minutes.

So, it appeared to now be time to bring out the necessary, potentially impertinent, questions.

"Is it something involving Mr. Barrow?"

"No." That line of thought seemed to distract her a bit from her concerns, and he felt a tinge of relief at this. Nothing against Barrow, not anymore really. But it did make it easier if the one servant in the house liable to cause scandal was, in fact, refraining from doing as such.

"Is it something that involves one of the children?" Though she had little caused to be around them, it was still a possibility. And, personally, if something were wrong with the children or with Nanny, she should go straight to her Ladyship instead of waiting around for his approval.

"No- no, nothing with the children." _Thank heaven._

Still, even though there was no problem with children or even with Barrow, something was clearly bothering her. And, though he was not willing to accidentally spark the Scottish Dragon's wrath by prodding too much too soon… there was still the urge to outright ask just what it was that was troubling the woman before him. An urge that grew larger by the minute.

Unfortunately, the only problem with that plan was that it had a very high probability of bringing forth that infamous glare that could intimidate even Lord Grantham. And, with all the confusion this situation was bringing forth for him, Mr. Carson was simply not interested in bringing that into the fold just yet.

So, it was with trepidation that he waited for Mrs. Hughes's eventual answer.

Trepidation that soon shifted into hesitation.

Hesitation that was eventually outweighed by the need for propriety and resolution.

"Mrs. Hughes," He had to break the brewing silence at hand, for the suspense could actually have been killing him by this point. "Is this a matter involving some form of scandal?"

She sighed, inadvertently giving him his answer.

"It's not exactly scandal, no."

He was steeling himself for anything by this point. Simultaneously, he was just as prepared to admit to being at a complete loss with the situation at hand. He did understand her general need to understate any indecorous matters at hand, as he himself had a hard time navigating through the incorrigible depths of scandal. But there was also his waning patience on that matter that was calling for action.

Fortunately, right as he was about to outright demand a straightforward answer, she decided to just explain the whole situation.

In a further cryptic tone, that is.

"It's more bloody annoying than anything, if I'm to be quite candid." He did a double take at this, unable to handle the shift in mood and taking note of her colloquial slip. While an annoyance was far more easier to manage, her behavior hardly seem to categorize this as a simple annoyance.

"What on Earth do you mean?"

She sighed once more, letting her head drop a little before redirecting her to the ceiling.

"Take a step outside, Mr. Carson. Take a step outside, shut the door, give me a moment and you'll soon see."

Was he absolutely confused by her sudden instruction?

Certainly.

Was he still going to obey the beautiful, exhausted woman before him?

Undoubtedly.

"Now, just do as I said and all will be made clear." He could barely make out her voice through the now closed door. This whole charade in itself was trying enough. But, seeing how they were already this far into whatever _this_ was, he could remain patient with the matter for a few more moments.

"Excuse me, I was looking for Mr. Carson," It was plainly and loudly spoken through the door, uttered with the tone of someone's who has already had a long day even though it's only been an hour.

He raised an eyebrow at this statement, re-adjusting himself as he waited for this scene to hop out of the Lewis Carroll novel it currently seemed to reside in.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'm right here."

"Just give it a moment, Mr. Carson. And don't even think of opening that door just yet." Which seemed to thoroughly contradict her previous statement of requesting his presence in the first place, but even Charles Carson knew by this point in life _not_ to mention this.

And so he waited.

And continued to wait.

Luckily, it only took a few more seconds for a peculiar noise to sound. It sounded to his ears like a very poor at attempt of producing sound, and he glanced around - intrigued. It seemed to be emanating from the ceiling, but just what was it exactly?

 _Isn't there a white knight_  
 _Upon a fiery steed?_

The unfamiliar American voice, a voice that seemingly spoke with a gravelly and - in his opinion - unnecessarily intense tone, began to echo throughout the vicinity. There was no reason to this sudden bombardment of noise, and it only seemed to crescendo into further chaos within the hall.

 _It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet!_

For the life of him, he could not understand where on Earth that attempt at sound was coming from. At first it seemed to be the ceiling was the root of the problem, but now there seemed to be an army of discord marching through the area, permeating any and all surfaces, leaving no sanctuary of silence in its wake.

 _I need a hero!  
I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night,_

He glanced around the space, eyes still scanning for any sign of what on Earth could possibly be the source of such cacophony. So distracted was the butler, he almost missed Mrs. Hughes's next remark.

"You can come in now, Mr. Carson!"

"What did you say, Mrs. Hughes?" He couldn't help but raise his voice in response, losing her words to the sound of what he found to be a foreign monstrosity of noise.

 _He's gotta be strong_

"I said,"

 _He's got to be fast_

"You can come in now!"

 _And he's gotta be fresh from the fight!_

Well, that was all the invitation he ever needed.

Hands fumbling for the doorknob, he opened the barrier as expediently as possible.

 _I need a hero-_

The music cut off right as he stepped over the threshold, and he firmly shut the door - embracing the blessed silence for a solid minute before eventually releasing a sigh of relief. The chaos had apparently come to an end.

She could only tiredly look up.

"Every time I've searched for you this morning, _that_ is what I've been greeted with." Questions began to flitter around his brain at this notion, and he could only shake his head in disbelief at the utter logic and reason that was nowhere to be found in this situation.

"But what does it mean, Elsie?" He was shaken enough he hadn't even noticed the slip. In response, her weary head simply dropped into exasperated hands. Having been wondering this exact thought ever since this started, Elsie now had some personal theories. But, still, the housekeeper couldn't bring herself to properly respond. Not just yet.

"Never you mind, Mr. Carson. Never you mind."

_._

 _ **A/N:**_ I have other scenarios that play with a similar line of thought, because it's absolutely hilarious in retrospect. But for now I'm content to leave it be. If you're interested in the possibilities, let me know.

In any case, have a lovely day :)


	2. Heroic Thread

**A/N:** This all had started as crack, but after a request to continue the possibilities, my brain would not allow me to let it fully remain crack. In other words, I didn't intend for there to be a little angst or a serious moment for this one-shot, but please note that _there is also hope!_ Enjoy!

Also, a heads up, in this particular one-shot they cannot actually hear the lyrics of the song. Moreover, this is definitely past Series 4, but where it lies in the timeline is up to you.

_._

It was almost a wonder just how mercurial the weather could get, if you gave it half the chance.

 _Up where the mountains meet the heavens above,_

One minute, sunny skies perfect for a stroll down to the village. The next, a maelstrom of watery chaos - chaos that took place in the form of pounding rain, racing lightning, and tumultuous thunder. It was a cauldron of disarray that bubbled in the sky above, a blustery combination of breezy pandemonium briskly stirred into utter atmospherical anarchy.

 _Up where the lightning splits the sea!_

She hadn't felt this alive in years.

And, it was with that exhilarating feeling, the one that came as the heavens continued to pour their watery treasures into her open arms, that she let loose a much-needed laugh and began to close her eyes to absorb it all just a bit more.

"My, my," Elsie started to speak, turning to her companion as she truly become enveloped by the storm, eyes delightedly shut. "When's the last time we had a proper storm like this, Mr. Carson?"

 _I could swear there was someone, somewhere, watching-_

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

It took a minute for Elsie Hughes to realize that she was currently alone. It took another one to locate her so-called "White Knight in Inordinately Polished Armor", who was currently huddled awkwardly underneath against the trunk of the nearest tree - obviously not taken with the weather.

"It's only a bit of rain, Charles!" Although they were only colleagues and there were levels of propriety to keep intact, she couldn't help but feel that this situation warranted a "Charles" instead of "Mr. Carson". However, seeing as how he only tried harder to blend into the wood sheltering him from the storm at the sound of his Christian name, she could only suppose that it was all too much for him to take.

"Mr. Carson," Regaining her decorum and keeping her eyes open, the housekeeper lowered her outstretched arms and took a languid pace back toward the tree - absolutely intent on enjoying the sensation regardless of her current frustration. "Do you not think that it is best to simply 'brave the storm' in this instance?"

"No, I most certainly do not," He candidly remarked, "And I'm frankly astonished that a woman of your intelligence does not agree." This sparked an eye-roll and a step back into the beautiful havoc, the havoc reigning over the land and raining down from the sky.

"We can't always see eye to eye, Mr. Carson," A vexing but also a necessary part of life. "However, I can tell this storm will not stop for quite some time. If we are to make it back from our errands in time, we will have to get a move on."

"Mrs. Hughes, surely it'll only be a few minutes at most," He tepidly asked, genuinely testing her patience. "Is that really too long a time to wait out?"

Now, what Elsie Hughes would've liked to have done was waited another minute or so before dragging her dear friend into the rain with her and carrying on with their duties.

What she chose to do instead was withhold a sigh, meet his gaze, and plainly ask:

"Mr. Carson, is there any risk in life you will take?"

Now, what Charles Carson would've liked to have done was take his dear colleague into his arms, much like they do in the movies, and boldly declare "Yes." before finally kissing her - much as he has fervently wished to have done ever since he heard that it was only a cancer scare and not a reality.

What he chose to do instead was refrain from pursuing his one and only passion, squarely meet her stare, and rhetorically inquire:

"Mrs. Hughes, have you known me to do anything else?"

As though on cue, the storm began to lessen. The upheaval settled into a tranquilizing air that spoke of peace and propriety, a stable spirit in the sky designed to keep the peace and bring the world back to an even-keel.

For once, Charles regretted the whole thing.

"Well, at least you won't have to step out into a storm," The blatant sarcasm that came with her unusual disapproval had stung more than she may ever realize. It caused him to properly exhale his weariness - the exhaustion that came with maintaining all the pretenses required for a butler at an estate like Downton Abbey - and come to a stop.

"Mrs. Hughes," _I would gladly brace a storm for you, I just need some more time._ "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, Mr. Carson? It's hardly as though you could control the weather." She swiped his apology away, brushing it off her chest as though it were only drops of rain.

"Even still," _I'm not the heroic adventurer you want, the brave risk-taker you'd take into the storm of life with you._ "I feel somewhat responsible for the spoiled mood."

She couldn't understand, not fully. That wouldn't occur until he finally felt he could explain himself. But, before he could bemoan his lack of courage any further, she was already speaking.

"Mr. Carson," It was almost as though she'd called him Charles, what with the level of intimacy she conveyed within stating his name. "The fact that you seldom take risks only makes it more thrilling when you finally do."

That sent him for a jolting change in thought, thoroughly stunned by her blunt words.

"And if the next storm proves too much a risk for me to take?"

This produced a smile from her, as her hand reached out just like it did on that day spent at the beach. And with that smile came his own: an unburdened twitch of his lips that resulted in a faint twinkle in her eye.

"Did I not mention that my hand is yours to take whenever you need it?" She archly, _kindly_ underneath all that cheek, put forth - feeling a boldness that only came after a storm like the one they'd just experienced. "Whether that's to feel steady or not!"

Because, personally, Elsie Hughes was alright with feeling a little unsteady at this moment in time.

"Right," Charles murmured, taken with such permission. It clicked in his thoughts just what it was she may be implying, and he suddenly craved to take more than just her hand.

 _Through the wind and the chill and the rain,_

Thunder rumbled approvingly in the distance, the sky still dripping in clouds even though the rain had paused for the moment. It seemed even the heavens above were all for risk-taking, threatening to come back in full force if a move wasn't reciprocated.

 _And the storm and the flood,_

Grasping her hand for a moment or two, firmly breathing in the sensation of her fingers intertwined with his, that was enough of a risk for right now. She openly beamed at the feeling, as droplets began to brush up against the pair once more.

 _I can feel his approach_

 _Like a fire in my blood._

When he continued to calmly hold her hand, his own pleased expression complementing the experience, she couldn't help but slowly step back into the storm - gently, silently asking his permission to follow.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'm not entirely sure this is appropriate." After all, the whole purpose of remaining under the tree was to _avoid_ getting drenched.

"Mr. Carson," Affectionate exasperation coated her playful intonation, "This doesn't have to be a risk. It can simply _be_. Heaven knows we're all allowed to exist with no form of pretense at least once in life."

"But, you see, Mrs. Hughes," He clung to her name as though it were his shield, still remaining firmly out of the storm's path even as he unwittingly continued to take hold of her hand. "Pretense always follows a butler."

"And storms can cause illness. And risks do not always bring with them rewards. And life can change in an instant, whether or not you do." She quietly informed him, a fire burning bright enough in her eyes it almost melted away the water that pit-patterned before them. "Maybe this doesn't need to be a pretense or risk; maybe this can be an alteration."

"An alteration?" He softly repeated, recalling a conversation long gone.

"Yes. After all, hasn't life altered you as its altered me?" She brought his exact words into the air, having thought over that same conversation several times over the years. "Alterations do not have to be more than a change in the threading of the cloth that is life. Whether we sew it ourselves or someone else does, that thread can and will change."

Charles conceded by taking another step forth, now feeling the droplets start to trail down his wrist.

"And if the thread snaps?"

"If the thread snaps, then we see what else needs altering." It's not unkindly spoken, there's even a hopeful gaze to her eyes as she speaks it. Yet, she won't drag him out into the open even if he beginning to ask the types of questions she's wanted to hear for _years_.

Another step forward. Now, the rain soothing ran from his elbow to their entwined fingertips. "So, it would be us that makes the alteration?"

Elsie looked up to meet his gaze, having been studying their hands. She herself felt like uncharacteristically twirling about in the rain at the sensation, not having felt this young in ages and wanting to cherish every second of it.

But, Charles needs her right now, needs her to respond from any distractions. Needs her to answer honestly, unhesitantly, much like she does for everything else.

"Yes."

_._

A/N: While I do have crackier ideas to take this concept, this serious one-shot insisted on being written. And, so, who am I to deny my muse?

In any case, many thanks to Louise for inspiring a return to this work!


	3. Holding Out for a -- Housekeeper?

**Author's Note:** We're diving back into crack and _this_ time we've got **spoilers for the movie.**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Downton. I also currently don't own the chance to re-watch the movie, therefore any canon mistakes are mine. As well as grammatical mistakes, because this wouldn't leave me alone until it was posted and this is definitely a late hour.

_._

"Mrs. Webb," Elsie had thought getting rid of Wilson and Courbet would lead to the stony woman giving up at last, but it seemed to be quite the reverse. "Did I not suggest you have a sit down in the _kitchen_?"

Oh, it wasn't as though the supposed housekeeper was marching about the floors, commanding everyone in sight. It wasn't even as though she was trudging up the stairs, determined to find her butler if not her chef. No, it was hardly any of that:

Mrs. Webb had fixed herself in _Elsie's_ sitting room, taking it over with an apathetic demeanour that still clutched a certain glee for all the world to see. She'd also indelicately tossed all of the papers the real housekeeper of Downton had been meaning to look over onto the floor, _and_ she was sat in Elsie's chair.

Needless to say, that would simply not do.

"Oh, but, _Mrs._ Hughes, I felt this was a more fitting location." Mrs. Webb knew exactly what she was playing at, that was past the point of being painstakingly obvious the more the older woman spoke. "I'm sure it'll be no trouble for you if I take my sit down here."

Yes, well, _that_ would really not do.

Not one bit.

At this indifferent proclamation, Elsie Hughes was ready to let the Scottish Dragon roar at this, far beyond vexed that this woman was daring to act in such a fashion. After all of her humouring these ridiculous servants during their unnecessary stay, biding her time for the perfect moment to strike and prove her worthiness, the stern housekeeper of Downton was not in the mood to be trifled with.

"You may take your leave, Mrs. Hughes. I'm sure there are far more urgent tasks you need to attend to."

 _Right._ That was it. No _my, my_ s, or declarations disguised as questions.

Opening her mouth without any hesitation to deliver the tongue lashing that'd been brewing for days, "Mrs. Hughes, might I borrow you for a moment?"

Her husband stole her away before she could get the marbles out. Carefully maneuvered her away from the entrance of her own sitting room before not-so-gently guiding her down the hall and into his pantry.

Clearly, "daft" was not the word for this behaviour. No, the only words coming to mind, the only ones that she found she could classify his behaviour with, would make Mrs. Patmore's more colourful metaphors sound coy.

"Charlie," Anger frothed at her lips, but he remained unaffected.

"Elsie," The man returned the favour of using Christian names with much more serenity, "Do you remember that day a few years ago in which you'd learnt you can't go looking for me? Not officially, at least?"

Having long since learned how to see her for the individual she was and not the supposed dragon she was seen to be, Charles knew how to diffuse his wife's wrath. Or, at least, he knew a little about how to remind her not to let her anger overtake her. He'd never consider himself an expert in this particular subject. But, he could safely remark that his knowledge had significantly grown over the course of their marriage.

Hence, his question. Remarking on her vexation would only lead to inadvertently giving her permission to bring it to the surface. Asking a seemingly off-topic question, on the other hand, usually resulted in distracting the woman from her thoughts. And, in this case, it'd worked: his wonderful wife was now perturbedly looking at him as she tried to recall whatever he was going on about.

It had only taken her a few moments to comprehend what he was getting at.

When she did, all there was left to do was pass on her thanks for the reminder.

Seeing as how she was still too distracted for words, this was, of course, conveyed through a kiss. Said kiss was one accompanied by touches that were not entirely proper. Said touches were designed to inform the man of their newfound plans to celebrate what was going to be a successful evening. Said celebration was only to involve the two of them and their bed, naturally.

But, first, to deal with the individual parading about in _her_ sitting room.

_._

"Mrs. Hughes?" _Whatever brings you back here?_

Lila Webb was not one for any sort of game. Nor was she one for beating around the bush. She'd already proven that this sitting room was now her domain for the foreseeable future, no question about it. Because, whether or not Mr. Wilson was at the helm, she was _always_ the housekeeper.

And a Scot, one who no doubt came from the farmlands judging by that pitiful accent, was not going to prove her wrong.

"Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Webb," There was something peculiar about the woman's tone, but Lila didn't frankly care. "I was looking for Mr. Carson."

"Why would Mr. Carson be here, Mrs. Hughes?" However, the woman was already making her way out of the room, quietly shutting the door in the process.

 _Well, that was stupid but expected from such a ridiculous woman._ "Honestly, you'd think you'd know your place by now, Mrs. Hughes," Though, after brief contemplation, it did give Lila one more thing to mull over:

"Wasn't Mr. Carson just with you a short while ago?"

However, the door had long since shut.

"Like it matters," She was still disinclined to help the idiots in charge here. But, if these fools were convinced they needed to show their clear incompetence today, so be it. Who was she to disagree when the dinner service would inevitably fall apart? Besides, it was only Mr. Wilson and Monsieur Courbet who would be taking the blame when the charade was found out. She'd be perfectly safe as it was.

Still, there were larger matters at hand. For instance, "What is that hideous racket?"

Lila hadn't originally recognized the noise she'd been overhearing, deeming it to be pure imagination. After all, it didn't sound like anything she'd ever considered to be music. Rather, it only sounded like a conglomeration of brash voices and irritating versions of instrumentation.

 _Isn't there a white knight_

 _Upon a fiery steed?_

"Mrs. Hughes?" The Scot had been the last one in the room; therefore, this had to be her doing. "Mrs. Hughes, what are you playing at?"

But, there was no response. Only a disgusting fervour growing in the sound, a fervour that began to ardently coat every surface of the office. One that she was loathed to be drenched in, but one that she found herself being incessantly surrounded by.

 _Late at night,_

 _I toss and I turn_

 _And I dream of what I need!_

"Mrs. Hughes!" Hastily bringing her hands to cover her ears, her own ire rose at this claptrap. Especially now that it was making the air sodden with a horrid cacophony of some awful attempt at music. "Mrs. Hughes, I demand you stop this at once!"

 _I need a hero!_

There was still no bloody response from the woman, causing Lila to hurriedly push herself to her feet and make her way to the door. But, much to her growing repugnance, it was futile: the door was locked.

 _I'm holding out for a hero_

' _Till the end of the night!_

And only one blasted woman held the wretched key.

_._

"I am sorry about the noise," Elsie eventually offered to her dear friend, casually observing the sound of Mrs. Webb banging on the door of her pantry with no sympathy in sight. Well, it was fitting to be lacking in that particular emotion in the kitchen: wasn't it the cook in question who had proclaimed on many occasion that sympathy didn't butter any parsnips?

 _He's gotta be strong!_

"Never you mind that, I just can't believe it's gone down in volume over the years!" Beryl remarked in awe, "I remember when we'd all just realized the horror that is whatever that song is. Don't ask me why, maybe I'm just used to it, but it really does sound like it's only in your room now."

 _He's gotta be fast!_

The housekeeper of Downton nodded in response, arms still crossed and a faint smirk playing with her lips. Beryl was right: the music had diminished gradually over the year. And, even if it hadn't, it never seemed to disturb the upstairs life.

 _And he's gotta be fresh from the fight!_

Something that worked well to their advantage, currently.

"Mrs. Hughes! Mr. Carson! I insist you let me out of her at once!"

"She does realize Mr. Carson has only just begun to start the dinner service, right?"

"Oh, I'd give her some time before expecting her to realize that," The Scot informed her friend, sounding entirely unapologetic. "Though, I do think she'll eventually get the message."

 _I need a hero!_

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then, she might discover that Mr. Carson has been whisked away to his cottage to rightfully celebrate a job well done."

 _I'm holding out for a hero_

 _'Till the end of the night!_

Beryl quietly cackled at this, delighted. Married life really did suit Elsie Hughes, the cook had to admit that. It also suited Charlie Carson, much as he didn't care to publicly admit it.

 _He's gotta sure,_

Now, if only Albert Mason would realize the same could hold true for them and get a move on.

 _And he's gotta be soon,_

'Course, if she has learned anything these last few decades, it was that she didn't have to hold out for a hero.

 _And he's gotta be larger than life!_

She could be her own hero and get a move on with the man herself.

 _Larger than life!_

_._

 **Author's Note:** Because we got to lock up Mr. Wilson and we even put sleeping tablets in Monsieur Courbet's drink, but there was nothing for Mrs. Webb other than a swift bit of acerbic cheek.

 _And_ , because Mr. Mason wasn't even a part of the film, I just had to work him into this somehow!


End file.
